


A Chance Encounter

by Sp00py



Series: A Study in Snuffering [1]
Category: Mumintroll | Moomins Series - Tove Jansson
Genre: Accidental Incest, Bad Sex, M/M, Sneaky Sex, and makes the epilogue 100x more awkward, dubcon, got a lot of headcanons and blended canons, mostly consensual, post sex regret, takes place before memoirs/exploits, the mystery of snufkin's genitals, tho only vaguely dubious
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-07
Updated: 2018-01-07
Packaged: 2019-03-01 14:14:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13296588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sp00py/pseuds/Sp00py
Summary: Snufkin meets an intriguing stranger.





	A Chance Encounter

**Author's Note:**

> I was gonna start off with smth cute, I swear. Though this fic is the least horrible of the lot, for what it's worth.

There was such a thrill in doing bad. Not too bad, of course, as Snufkin felt entirely in the right as he pulled down signs, but just a little bad as the Park Keeper's flashlight danced around him and never quite alighted. This wasn't the normal Park Keeper, who worked alone and corralled nature into unnatural shapes. This was an industrial Park Keeper, one of several who had electric fencing and barbed wire and stamped out every dandelion that fought so valiantly through cracks to add some green to this grey, grey waste. Snufkin couldn’t bring nature back, but he could cause inconvenience.

He froze, the light moved on, he danced away on cat's paws to deposit the signs in a drainage ditch. At the splash, the Park Keeper's light swung back to him, but he was already across the ditch and running.

Snufkin glanced back, paw to his green hat, a grin on his face. The Park Keeper was after him, crying out for him to stop, to obey, waving his nightstick around in one paw, his flashlight in the other, like that would convince anyone to stay and get beaten. Snufkin's shadow leapt before him, wild and free. He scrambled over a fence that crackled like charged Hattifatteners, shocked his fingers numb, and tumbled down the other side.

Precious seconds evaporated as Snufkin tried to figure out where his legs were in relation to the rest of him. He could hear the Park Keeper clanging at the gate. His heart rate jumped, his breath wouldn’t come, so close to being caught --

Someone grabbed his coat sleeve and hefted him to his feet. He was dragged along, then ran alongside, this stranger without questioning. They moved as quietly and quickly as he did, and soon the park was dark once more. The Park Keeper's din sounded far away, winding through cement buffers and towers, dying before being heard by anyone.

They ducked between a truck and a building and paused to recover from the sudden sprint. Snufkin looked at his paws, which trembled slightly. He'd been lucky that the voltage hadn't been enough to seriously injure him, but luck was as much a skill as anything else and he'd been honing it for years. His gaze moved beyond his fingers, to the other person, who he watched surreptitiously from under the brim of his hat.

He was taller than him and -- and this was the most interesting part -- dressed quite similarly. A hat, probably red in the daylight but black as blood in the moonlight, sat on his head with a braided cord around it, and he wore a colorless, pale sort of lump of a jacket that came to above his knees. Black gloves were braced on his thighs. Before he dared approach, Snufkin scented the air. The other Mumrik, for that was what this person had to be if he dressed like a Snufkin and trespassed like a Snufkin and helped a Snufkin escape the law but he instinctively knew wasn’t a Snufkin, smelled warmly of tobacco and applewood and perfume. A scent that didn't seem dangerous.

Snufkin crept forward to peep under his hat. The Mumrik had a mess of shiny dark hair curling about his weathered face. A streak ran from his nose to his brow, and Snufkin could see the silvery filament of whiskers in the moonlight. His eyes were blue and bright like he'd caught the wild sea in them, and they were locked intensely on Snufkin. The tingles from the electric fence slithered from Snufkin's limbs to coil in his belly. He'd never met another Mumrik before.

"Hello," Snufkin said.

"Hello," the Mumrik replied.

They said nothing more, as nothing more needed saying. Two Mumriks, a park, and signs forbidding them to do things -- what was there to say? Snufkin led the way to the tailgate of the truck to check for the Park Keeper. The Mumrik trailed after him, caught his paw and laced their fingers. Snufkin's were small and white and his were long and black, and they tangled into a pleasing pattern of shadows and moonlight.

The industrial park was enormous, and signs were everywhere, wanting to be pulled to the ground and stamped upon. They worked in relative silence, with only the occasional chuckle or grunt when signs were particularly stubborn. Snufkin had never done his park raids with another person before, but the Mumrik was exactly the sort of partner in crime he didn't know he wanted. Didn't have to be told anything, or have such silly things explained like why (the answer, of course, being why not?). Snufkin even found he didn't mind the Mumrik's tendency to touch him, a paw to the small of his back, a tap on his arm, gentle tugs and pressures speaking for them. Some people were just more inclined that way, like his dear Moomintroll, who so easily arrested his thoughts.

Much as he loved him, Moomin could never come with Snufkin on his raids. He was too sweet and round and soft to slither under chain link or jimmy open locks. But that was what Snufkin liked about him, and he understood Moomintrolls and Snufkins were different in respect to, well, respect.  He imagined Moomin was tucked safely in bed still, waiting for spring to come to Moominvalley and dreaming whatever dreams Moomins had. Snufkin hoped, though he would never tell a soul, they were dreams that included him.

Three flashlight beams clicked on around them, dragging Snufkin back to the present. He scowled at them for chasing away his Moomin, but dropped his signs and ran at the Mumrik's heels. When they hit a crossroad, Snufkin was about to go his own way, but the Mumrik grabbed his wrist and pulled him along down the left path.

"W-wai--" Snufkin began, only to be dragged through the narrowest of openings in a fence into a small yard. He collided hard with the Mumrik, who pulled him closer until the only thing between them was a gloved finger on the Mumrik's lips and a syllabant shush. Snufkin shushed. He couldn’t have spoken if he wanted to.

They leaned against the wall, Snufkin's heart in his throat, eyes locked on the Mumrik's, all thoughts of signs and Moomins vanished like water in the desert. He could feel the Mumrik's heart beating, too, slow and steady despite their situation. The Mumrik's paw moved from his lips to Snufkin's cheek to the hair at the nape of his neck. His other paw carefully, quietly pushed the loose fence board back into place.

Snufkin had never been kissed before, hadn't really cared much about it. He still didn't, because it seemed a lot of bother figuring out where teeth and tongue and nose should go, but the Mumrik was taking care of all that. He heard, only a few feet away, the grumbling of the Park Keepers. He tasted apple wine and tobacco on the Mumrik's tongue.

The Mumrik sank down, and Snufkin had to follow, where they settled on collapsed boxes and old wrappers and stagnant liquids. A paw crept up Snufkin's leg, and he couldn't tell the Mumrik to stop, because there was light dripping through the slates like rain, there was a chance of getting caught -- there was a thrill in doing bad. Snufkin's eyes widened as he caught the Mumrik's cold, cold gaze. The Mumrik's fingers stilled until Snufkin returned that knowing little smile of a secret shared between them and leaned into his touch.

He was clearly older than Snufkin, with silver in his whiskers and lines around his eyes. He knew all about the excitement. It wasn't just that they hated signs, that signs and notices and names were like nooses around their necks, but that it was fun. Life was meant to be fun, full of play and pleasure when it suited them, and nothing was more fun than defiance of society. And the Mumrik was adding a bit of challenge to keep it exciting. A new type of defiance.

He was in Snufkin's pants, now. Snufkin bit his lip on a whine as the worn leather of the Mumrik's glove rubbed against him. He'd never had sex, either, never touched himself. His curiosities lay elsewhere, far away from himself in music and silence and the horizon. The Mumrik, though, was so close and warm and firm like an old, well-rooted tree. The world shrank to their little alley, and the flashlight beams were stars twinkling.

Together, they got Snufkin's pants to his shins before falling quietly over in a jumble of limbs, and paws were at the crook of his knees, pushing them to Snufkin's chest. It was awkward, and probably looked dreadfully silly, but it felt electric. Something sharp was digging into Snufkin's shoulder, and he could see the shadows of Hemulen feet from this angle, walking back and forth mere inches away. The slightest noise, a wrong movement, and they'd be found.

The Mumrik's paw covered Snufkin's mouth as he pushed in, stifling his cry so their game didn't end too early. It was an odd feeling of being stabbed but without pain, just surprise and pressure. His gaze flicked from the gap beneath the fence to those sly, feline eyes. The Mumrik's paw fell away from Snufkin’s lips to brace himself against the ground as he set up a steady pace. Fingers wrapped around Snufkin's thigh as the shadows and lights moved a little further away.

The Mumrik’s breathing was quiet but sharp, matching his movements and answered in kind by Snufkin's own shallow breath. He clung to the thick scarf tucked into the Mumrik's coat. Unlike the Mumrik, Snufkin wasn't comfortable just touching him, even with him buried deep inside, even as he leaned down and kissed him again. The Mumrik trailed kisses along his jaw to his throat. Snufkin swallowed. The kisses started gently but got rougher as he met Snufkin's neck.

Snufkin tensed as the angle shifted, and he felt the Mumrik smirk against his throat when a moan escaped. Snufkin's arms curled around the Mumrik, desperate for some purchase, hips rising to meet the Mumrik's thrusts. Neither was paying attention to anything but the other. The world grew smaller, still, until it was just their mingled breath, the earthy taste of the Mumrik in Snufkin's mouth, his scratchy lips and cheeks on Snufkin's skin, his sea-bright eyes shining.

Teeth sank into his throat, and Snufkin choked at the spike of pain and a little fear. It was like being bitten by an animal, a predator. His fingers fisted in the Mumrik's coat, his knees pressed tightly to the Mumrik's sides, and he wasn't sure if he was trying to push him away or pull him closer. Either. Both.

Then suddenly, the Mumrik pulled back and the sky was just the sky, with that light pollution haze on the edges. Snufkin uncurled and lay there as the Mumrik sat back, paws up under his coat, buckling his pants. Snufkin watched him silently, wondering what would happen now. The Park Keepers were far, far away, and the world was quiet. But one never knew when they'd come back, so Snufkin sat up, body feeling new and strange and not entirely _his_ now, and wriggled his pants back on.

He expected the Mumrik to be gone by the time he finished, but he was still there. Snufkin wished he'd leave, as their game was done, and now he wasn't sure what to do with himself. He made a show of adjusting his hat to keep from looking anywhere in particular and tried to ignore the clammy dampness on his thighs.

The Mumrik gave a quiet huff of laughter, and, embarrassed though he didn't know why, Snufkin climbed to his feet. The Mumrik stayed crouched, looking up at Snufkin from under the brim of his hat. He had a feline smile on his face, and Snufkin tried to pretend he wasn't blushing so hard that he felt it from his ears to his shoulders. The Mumrik pulled a pipe from his coat and a bag of tobacco, and while he distracted himself lighting some, Snufkin decided if the Mumrik wasn't going to leave, he would.

Snufkin backed up and tripped on a bottle, barely caught himself against the wall as the bottle spun out and clattered away. He clambered up onto the roof of one of the buildings and glanced back to see the shapeless form of the Mumrik in the dark, lit only by the glow of his pipe. Beyond the fence, he could see the Park Keepers' lights rushing back this way, following the sounds. Then he was gone over the other side.

* * *

Snufkin traveled for a few days before he let himself think about what had happened, when the ache in his neck and the ache between his legs had faded enough to distance himself from it. He avoided people and parks, and watched spring wake up all around him.

He didn't wonder what happened to the Mumrik, who probably slipped away just in time as they were wont to do. Or got caught and sent to jail, as they were also wont to do. It wasn't Snufkin's problem, though he hated how he couldn't forget about the Mumrik as easily as he could forget anything else he wanted. These were days he should be chasing songs and storms, not examining bruises around his neck and on his legs.

After the initial thrill died an ignoble death in that dank little alley, he felt almost betrayed, like he'd been marked as surely as a sign claiming private property. When he saw how badly mottled his neck was while resting with his feet in a clear, still pond, Snufkin searched out herbs in a nearby field and beat them a little more viciously than required to make a poultice. He wrapped his neck with bandages, hiding the dark teeth marks at the center of all the bruising, and crawled into the reeds at the edge of the pond to avoid any Creeps coming out of hibernation or Hemulens counting bugs. He wanted to be left alone by everyone, including himself.

He lay there with his arms tucked under him and his legs curled close, watching the reeds sway gently, their shadows sliding back and forth like phantom bars. Instead of listening to the notes being played for him, Snufkin's mind was far away.

Memories were malleable, easy to rewrite into stories. Embellish parts, play down others, gloss over the gritty bits. You just had to know where to start and how.

Snufkin decided he was angry. That was a good place to start. He generally wasn’t the sort to be angry, at least not without a clear cause and certainly not on such a pleasant day, but now was a time of new experiences, it seemed.

That Mumrik had corralled him, bitten him, lied -- though no words had been spoken, Snufkin considered their silent compact against the Park Keepers an _understanding_ \-- and the light was splintering now and Snufkin’s anger broke down into confusion because he was crying. He pulled his hat down tight around his head and smothered any noises in the marshy ground that still had a wintry coldness to it. His neck twinged with every swallowed sound.

It lasted an embarrassingly long time, like an animal dying slowly and painfully in the reeds, but he felt a bit better afterwards. Snufkin hadn’t cried since he was little, when he decided nothing had ever been accomplished by crying, and he wasn’t sure why he started now, but it passed like a sunshower, and with it the intensity he’d felt.

This wasn’t one of those stories one shared, there were no revelations that a Moomin or a Snork or whoever else heard his stories could benefit from, so he tucked it away until he felt ready to muddle through all the ways it sat poorly with him. He still wasn’t far enough away from it yet, it seemed.

Maybe it was time to return to Moominvalley. That should be far enough.


End file.
